


Sides Carry On

by alsoyouremischievous



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Carry On, Logan is Penelope, M/M, Patton is Agatha, Polyamory, Roman is Simon, Slow Burn, Virgil is Baz, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-08-26 06:31:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsoyouremischievous/pseuds/alsoyouremischievous
Summary: Roman Prince will do anything to protect the life he’s found through magic. This includes enduring lectures from his best friends Logan and Patton, overcoming his evil roommate Virgil, working for the Mage, and defeating the Insidious Humdrum. His life seems to be set out for him - but things can never be easy, can they?





	1. Chapter 1

_**Roman** _

I walk to the bus station by myself. 

It’s always the same sort of ordeal when I go. All summer long we’re locked up in the children’s home for lack of chaperones, but when September comes around I simply sign myself out of care and leave.

“He goes to a _special_ school,” one secretary admits to the other. They’re sat behind a plexiglass wall that I have to slide my papers under. “It’s a school for delinquents,” she adds nastily.

Every autumn goes the same, despite me always being in a different place.

The Mage came for me the first time, of course, when I was only eleven. After that, I’ve had to make it to Watford on my own terms. “ _You’ve slain a dragon, Roman. Surely you can handle public transportation without anyone to hold your hand.”_

I didn’t even mean to kill the dragon. I don’t think it would have hurt me if I hadn’t. It still comes to me in my dreams, occasionally, the way it died. The way I watched it die. Glowing like an ember, but disintegrating from the inside out, screeching even as it faded. It did not go softly.

The bus station is lit with a flickering street lamp that doesn’t at all make for good ambiance while I snack on my first mint aero bar and contemplate the travel before me. I’m not sad to leave when the bus finally shows it’s fender.

I have to switch buses twice and then catch a train. Tedious.

The train has just started moving when the hair at the back of my neck stands on end. I peer around to see a man several rows back that has his eyes on me.

He could be police. Or a kidnapper.

He could also be a bonety hunter who knows what sort of price is on my beautiful head. I shudder at the thought of my bones and teeth being hoarded away like treasure.

Changing carriages doesn’t make me feel any less restless. I can feel the distance between me and Watford like a palpable thing. Each year I consider ditching the train to spell myself the rest of the way, damn the consequences. And the damage.

I might chance a **Hurry up** on the train if it weren’t a bit out of my comfort zone, which is particularly risky considering my lack of practice over the summer. It’s not my fault. It’s not as though the other boys wouldn’t have noticed me doing magic, and there isn’t a single private place in the kind of homes I stay in.

Not to mention it probably wouldn’t help anyway. Practice can’t make me a better magician. At best it would give me an opportunity to go off for no good reason.

No one knows why my magic works the way it does. Or why I work the way I do. My going off like a bomb isn’t exactly something many people would want to study even if they could.

Except for Logan. He would if I let him.

I asked him how magic feels to him once. “I can’t describe it accurately, though I suppose an adequate metaphor would be that there is a well inside myself which reaches down to unquantifiable depths. However, as opposed to sending down a bucket to gather water, I simply draw up magic from it. It is always there for me to utilize, so long as I maintain my focus.”

Logan is always focused. And powerful.

Patton isn’t. Not the way Logan is, at least.

He always seems hesitant to talk about his magic. Once though, at Christmas, I pestered him about it long enough that he confessed he always imagined that performing magic was a bit like picking something up.

I was confused at this but he explained that using an easy spell would be like picking up a glass of water, in that it’s almost effortless. But, if you were to be constantly doing little spells it would affect you as though you had been holding that glass of water for a long time, and it somehow becomes heavier than it had been, because of the strain. And the harder the spell the heavier the object in the metaphor.

Virgil compared it to lighting a match. Or pulling a trigger.

Not that he told me willingly. It was the situation with the chimera that pulled it out of him. We were cornered by it in the woods, our fifth year and Virgil wasn’t powerful enough to take care of it on his own. Neither would the Mage have been, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Do it, Prince!” he’d snarled at me. “Do it. Fucking unleash. Now.”

“ I can’t,” I argued, “it doesn’t work like that.”

“Yes, it fucking does.”

“I can’t just decide to go off.”

“Try!” he shouted.

“I can’t, damn you.” I was waving my sword around - I was fairly talented with it, even then - but the chimera wasn’t corporeal.

Which is a fair reflection on my luck, honestly. As soon as you get a sword to deal with your enemies they all turn to mist and gossamer.

“Close your eyes and light a match,” Virgil urged. We were both huddled as best we could behind a rock. Virgil was throwing spells out rapid-fire, effortlessly as though he were singing a familiar song, and not trying to avoid imminent peril.

“What?”

“It’s what my mother used to say,” he said. “Light a match inside your heart, then blow on the tinder.”

Virgil has a strange connection with fire. I suspect if he ever does me in I can expect to be burned alive. He’d even threatened me with a Viking’s funeral way back in the third year.

He took sadistic pleasure in explaining what that was to me when he saw my confusion at the concept.

“Sent out to sea on a flaming pyre. Seems just extra enough for you Prince… we could even do it in Blackpool so your stupid Normal friends could show up to watch you burn.”

“Fuck off” I’d said and tried to ignore him.

As if I even had Normal friends. Everyone who’s Normal takes one look at me and turns the other direction. Logan says that they can sense my power and instinctively avoid me the way a mouse avoids a cat. Not that I’m a predator of course. I would never hurt someone without provocation. 

In any case, the opposite could be said of other magicians. They love the smell of magic; I’d have to try extremely hard to find myself in the bad graces of my peers.

Aside from Virgil. Obviously. He’s got some sort of immunity. It’s entirely possible he built up a tolerance, just from sharing a room with me for seven years. That wouldn’t explain why he’s disliked me (loathed me) right from the start though.

In regards to the chimera, Virgil just shouted at me over and over until I exploded. Not quite metaphorically, either, I’m afraid.

We woke up in a charred crater a few hours later. The boulder that had been our barrier was dust, and the chimera was either vaporized or had just gone.

Virgil had been convinced I’d singed his eyebrows off completely.

He looked just like his normal emo self though. Not a single hair from his precious bangs was out of place.

Typical.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Roman** _

I don’t think about Watford over the summers. It just isn’t good for me, so I don’t let myself.

I had to learn the hard way, of course. After my first year, I spent the entirety of summer daydreaming about all the things I’d left behind. Imagining the towers of the school, wishing for the amazing food (or really any food that doesn’t come on metal trays), remembering the magic of it all. I even became nostalgic for classes at Watford. More than any of it though, I longed for the people I’d met there - Logan, Patton, the Mage. I was terribly alone for someone surrounded by other castaway boys.

I was sick with the loss of it. Watford School of Magicks started to feel like just another fantasy of my overactive imagination. Something to make the time pass like when I’d dreamt of becoming an actor someday… Or that my parents, the real ones, would come back for me.

My mum would be an actress, obviously. And my dad would be some rugged athletic type. They would weep and plead for me to understand that they’d had no choice but to leave me. They were simply too young, and her career was on the line.

“ _But we always missed you, Roman,”_ they’d declare. “ _We’ve been searching for you.”_  And I would forgive them, and they would take me away to their mansion hidden away behind a waterfall.

Waterfall mansion… Magickal boarding school…

They both felt like creations of my unchained whimsy in the light of day. Especially when you wake up in one bunk of eight to the room, with all the other discards.

I exhausted my memory of Watford so thoroughly that when proof of it being a reality came around with the fall, I was almost unconvinced. Even with the bus fare and papers and a note from the Mage himself right in front of me, I was scared to believe.

So now during the summers, I dedicate myself to ensuring all thoughts of my better life are locked up thoroughly. For months I shut myself away from it all, not allowing myself to miss it, or long for it. That way the World of Mages can show up as a reward for surviving the summer if it shows up at all. Which it always has, thus far.

At first, I was given the impression that eventually the Mage might allow me to spend summers at Watford, or maybe even at his side, wherever he ventures all summer long. Despite my enthusiasm for the idea, it was decided that I would be better off left with the Normals for part of the year. To allow me to be close to the language (as though anyone spoke to me away from Watford) and to keep my wits about me.

“ _Let hardship sharpen your blade, Roman."_

I eventually realized he wasn’t talking about the Sword of Mages, which is my actual blade. He was talking about me. I’m the blade, The Mage’s sword.

I’m fairly convinced that these summers in children’s homes don’t make me any sharper. They do make me hungry though. Cause me to crave Watford like life itself.

Virgil and his side - all the old, rich families - they don’t think anyone can understand magic the way they can. They believe they are the only ones that should be trusted with it.

But no one _loves_ magic like I do.

None of the other magicians, not my peers and not their parents, know what it’s like to live without magic at all.

Only I know.

Which is why I will do anything to ensure that it is always there for me to come home to.

 

***

 

I _try_ not to let Watford into my thoughts when I’m away, but this year… Well, this year I failed.

After the events that occurred last year, I was shocked that the Mage even bothered paying attention to something like the end of term. Who interrupts a war to send the kids home for summer vacation?

Which isn’t to say I’m even a kid anymore. Legally, care wouldn’t have needed to keep me past sixteen, which means I could have gone off somewhere on my own. I could afford to support myself, what with my hard earned bag of leprechaun’s gold.

Still, the mage insists on keeping me in children’s homes. Shuffling me around like the ball in a cups trick. As though I would be safe wherever he decides to drop me, and the Humdrum couldn’t just summon me, the way he managed to do to me and Logan at the end of last term.

“He can  _summon you?!_ ” Logan had exclaimed as soon as we were in the clear. “And across a body of water no less. This shouldn’t be possible Roman, there is no precedent.”

“Well the next time he summons me like a half-assed squirrel demon,” I said, “ I’ll tell him so!”

Logan was unfortunate enough to have been holding me by the arm when I’d been spirited away, which is why I assume he’d been brought along. His quick thinking is the only reason either of us escaped.

“Roman,” he’d intoned on the train back to Watford that day, “this is serious.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious! I know this is serious, Logan, he’s got my fucking number.”

“How is it possible that we still know so little about him?” He fumed. “ He’s so…”

“Insidious,” I said. “Being ‘The Insidious Humdrum’, and all that.”

“This is no time for kidding around, Roman. Even you must see that this is…”

“I know, Logan”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Logan so lost for words as he was that day, trailing off and unable to keep his head on straight.

When we finally returned, the Mage heard us out, made sure we weren’t harmed and sent us on our way. Just sent us home, without a second thought.

It didn’t make any sense.

So, of course, I spent this whole summer thinking of Watford despite best efforts. Everything that had happened, and everything that might still happen… Everything that’s at stake.

All of the good things, however, were kept at bay. The good things are what hurt the most anyway.

I keep a list, of all the things I miss most, and I’m not allowed to touch it in my head until I’m about an hour from Watford. That’s when I allow myself to go over it and really feel how much I’ve missed it all before I finally get it all back.

My list of good things started when I was twelve, and it could do with having a few things crossed off of it, but that’s more difficult than one might expect.

 

**Things I miss most about Watford:**

**_No. 1 - Sour cherry scones_ **

I’d never had cherry scones before Watford. I’d only been given the raisin ones, or more often the plain sort, and always the kind that were a little (or a lot) burnt.

At Watford, they have freshly baked cherry scones for breakfast every day if you so desire. Unless you sleep in and all the best foods are gone. They’re also ready for tea in the afternoon just before things like clubs and football and homework get started.

I always have tea with Logan and Patton. Even after all these years, Logan will scold us for eating the scones. “Dinner is in two hours, how much sustenance could you possibly need from now until then?” he’ll tsk at us.

Patton tried to calculate how many scones we’ve eaten since we started at Watford, once, but he got bored before he reached the answer. I suspect Logan might know. At the very least he could figure it out, but I doubt he’d indulge us with the answer if we asked for it. Maybe to better scold us.

I just can’t pass up the scones if they’re there. They’re soft and light and a little bit salty and I'm always allowed to eat them. They're a dream.

 

**_No. 2 - Logan_ **

This spot on the list used to belong to “roast beef.” But a few years back, I decided to limit myself to one food item. Otherwise, the list turns into the food song from _Oliver!_ , and I get so hungry that my stomach cramps.

I’m not sure that Logan should rank higher than Patton; they’re both my best friends. But Logan made the list first. He befriended me the very first week at school when he was still unsure about his enthusiastic roommate.

I didn’t know what to think of him when we met. He was a skinny little boy with light brown skin and a shock of blue hair. He wore pointy spectacles, the kind you might wear going as a witch for Halloween, and there was this giant blue ring weighing down his left hand. He was trying to help me with an assignment, and I think I just stared at him.

“I know you’re Roman Prince,” he said. “My mum told me you’d be here. She says you’re incredibly powerful, even more so than myself. I’m Logan Bunce.”

“I didn’t know someone like you could be named Logan,” I said. Stupidly.

He blinked back at me. “What do you suppose someone ‘like me’, might be named?” he’d implored, not quite yet mastering his poker face _or_ his ‘superior’ face that I’m so familiar with now, but pulling off some combination of the two.

“I don’t know.” I _didn’t_ know. Other boys I had met who looked like him were named Saanvi or Adit, and they definitely hadn’t had hair like his. “Saanvi?”

“Someone like me could have any sort of name, Roman,” Logan said.

“Oh. Right, my apologies.” I stuttered.

“I feel it also important to point out that we can also do whatever we desire with our hair,” he’d added, turning back to the assignment, fixing his hair away from his eyes. “I believe it’s considered impolite to stare, although different rules may apply between friends.”

“Are we friends?” I’d asked, surprised and the slightest bit in awe.

“I’m helping you with your lesson. It was my understanding that this is a thing that friends do.”

He was. He’d succeeded in helping me shrink a soccer ball to the size of a marble.

“I thought you were only helping me because I’m dumb,” I said.

“Everyone is dumb,” he’d asserted. “I’m helping you because I like you.”

It turned out that he’d accidentally turned his hair that color, trying out a new spell, and he hadn’t been able to hide it before anyone saw. He’d been too embarrassed to admit it had been a mistake. When Patton and I had realized we’d figured out how to do it ourselves in solidarity, Patton’s hair turning soft cotton candy colors of pink and light blue, and mine becoming a regal red hue.

Logan’s mum is Indian, and his dad is English. Or really they’re both English in that they’re both from London. He admitted later that his parents had wanted him to stay away from me. “My mum said that no one knew where you came from and that you may be dangerous.”

“Why didn’t you listen to her?” I asked.

“I just said, Roman, no one knew where you came from and you may have been dangerous.” To say nothing of his atrocious survival instincts, I do admire his small rebellion. I’m under the impression that his parents always wanted him to be more social than he naturally is. Making his first friend into the one person they’d ushered him away from must have felt like some small victory.

“And anyway, I couldn’t stand to watch such an awful display of magic,” he said. “You were holding your wand backward.”

I miss Logan every summer, even when I tell myself not to. The Mage doesn’t allow me to write or call anyone, but Logan still finds ways to send messages from him and Patton both. Once he’d actually possessed an old man down at the shop, the one who always forgot to put in his teeth, and he’d talked right through him. It was nice to hear from him and everything, but it was so disturbing that I asked him not to attempt it again, emergencies aside.

 

**_No. 3 - Patton_ **

Patton came into my life a couple weeks after Logan had declared our friendship.

The Crucible had cast him and Logan in a room together, so I had a general idea of what he was like based off of Logan’s comments. Before we were formally introduced I already knew that Patton was very emotional, that he loved cookies and dad jokes, and that he would try to hug a cactus if he thought it was sad. He lived up to expectations but completely surprised me by how comforting his presence could be. His actions from anyone else would be overwhelming and likely to drive me away, but Patton overcame this by being entirely genuine.

It didn’t take five minutes for the chubby kid with his golden hair and blinding smile to worm his way into my heart.

Logan had been perplexed over why they had ended up put together. The Crucible cast roommates in a way that most pairs were compatible or could form some sort of bond. He couldn’t understand why he ended up with someone who seemed to be his polar opposite.

Patton immediately took a liking to Logan even in the face of the others obvious reluctance to any sort of bonding happening between them. That’s how we met - Patton seeking Logan out to spend time with him despite already having made friends with the majority of student in our year some way or another. And to be fair to Logan, he really did warm up to Patton rather quickly after I accepted his friendship.

I’m glad that they were put together by an outside force because, even with Patton’s ability to charm almost anyone, I don’t think they would have been close if they weren't. The Crucible definitely didn’t make a mistake with them. They balance each other out perfectly despite their bickering. The only mistake the Crucible made was putting me and Virgil Grimm-Pitch anywhere we might have to breathe the same air.

I miss Patton right along with Logan each year. Sometimes he gets Logan to send cookies along with his messages. They’re never very good, but they always make me smile.

 

**_No. 4 - The theater_**

I don’t get to act as much as I used to. I don’t have enough time to between all the schemes I get caught up in and going out on missions for the Mage. You just can’t reliably perform when the godforsaken Humdrum could summon you away at any moment he cares to, so I’m not in the drama club. Which means I don’t get to be in any of the plays that Watford puts on.

I do get to act though. I’m allowed time to do monologues or perform scenes if I can convince another to join me. And it’s a glorious stage: fantastic lighting, and scarlet curtains. The acoustics in there are simply divine…

Virgil is in the drama club. Of course. The villain.

He’s only a techie, but he’s part of the productions and he handles his position the way he handles everything else. Capably, with vigilance. And an absolute disdain for the world at large.

 

**_No. 5 - My school uniform_ **

I put this on the list when I was twelve. You have to realize that when I first got my uniform, it was also the first time I’d ever had clothes that weren’t secondhand, and that fit me properly. For someone used to ratty tees and jeans that were too short on me, receiving an impeccably fitted blazer and dress pants with a tie to complete the look… Well, suddenly I felt taller. And stylish. Until Virgil walked into the room, much taller than me and confident enough to scoff at following dress codes.

There are eight years at Watford. The first and second years wear striped blazers in two shades of purple and green, with dark grey dress pants, green sweaters, and red ties.

Additionally, there is a boater hat that must be worn on the grounds until you reach sixth year. Teachers enforce this mostly to see which of us have strong enough **Stay put** spells to keep the wind from carrying them away. Logan always took care of mine for fear that I would end up sleeping in it should I attempt the spell.

There’s a brand new uniform waiting for me every fall when I reach our room. It will be laid out for me on my bed, clean and pressed and perfectly fitted, no matter how I’ve changed or grown.

The upper years, which is me now, wear green blazers with white piping, and red sweaters if we want them. Capes are optional, too, which I wear of course. They’re fabulous. I’ll never understand why Logan avoids them. Patton wears his sometimes, just to wrap up in it as though it's a blanket.

I like the uniform, and knowing what I’m going to wear every day. I’m not sure what I’ll end up wearing next year when my time at Watford is finished.

I had thought I would join the Mage’s Men, who have their own uniforms which look like an amalgam of Robin hood and MI6. Then the Mage told me that isn’t my path.

That’s how the Mage talks to me. “ _It’s not your path, Roman. Your destiny lies elsewhere._ ”

He wishes for me to be separate from the average, with private training and special lessons. I’m not sure he would even let me go to school at Watford at all if he weren’t headmaster there. That and he knows Watford to be the safest place for me.

If I were to let the Mage dress me after leaving Watford I might end up kitted out like a superhero. Or an actual prince.

I’m not asking anyone what I should wear after I leave. I’m eighteen. I’ll dress myself.

Or Logan and Patton will help.

 

**_No. 6 - My room_ **

I should say “our room,” but I don’t miss the sharing-with-Virgil part of it.

Your room and your roommate get picked out for you in your first year and you don’t ever get to switch. Trust me. I’ve tried. At the very least you never have to clear out your things.

Sharing a room with someone who would like nothing more than to murder me, and has felt this way since we were eleven, is a very stressful and dismal experience.

The Crucible must have felt bad for casting Virgil and me together because we got the best room there is at Watford. Logan says it’s very unlikely that the crucible is sentient in any way, but I believe it must have felt guilty.

We live in Mummers House, on the edge of the school grounds. It’s a four and a half story building made out of stone, and our room is at the very top, located in a turret facing the moat that surrounds the school. The turret just happens to be too small for two rooms, but significantly bigger than the other student accommodations, which means we get our own en-suite.

Virgil is not a bad person to share a bathroom with. He’s in there all morning, presumably applying his eyeshadow beneath his eyes like a moron, but he’s clean. Also, he’s extremely territorial so his stuff is never in my way. Logan says our bathroom smells like cedar and bergamot, and that’s got to be Virgil for it certainly isn’t me.

 

**_No. 7 - The Mage_ **

I also put the Mage on the list when I was twelve, and since then there have been many times that I’ve wondered if I should take him off.

For example, there was the time in sixth year, when he ignored me. Whenever I spoke to him he would send me away claiming to be in the middle of something serious.

That still happens quite often. I understand, of course, he is the headmaster. And more than that he practically runs the World of Mages, since he’s head of the Coven. It’s not like he’s my dad. He’s not my anything.

It’s just that he _is_ the closest I’ve got to anything.

If he hadn’t come to get me I wouldn’t know who I am or anything about the World of Mages. He even still looks out for me sometimes, mostly when I’m least likely to pay attention. When he does have time for me, to actually talk, it makes me feel completely grounded. I fight better when he’s around. And think better. Somehow, when I’m with him, I can buy into the things he’s always told me. I can believe that I’m the most powerful magician ever to face the World of Mages.

I even believe, just for a while, that so much power is a good thing, or at least that it will be. Someday. That I’ll get my shit together eventually and solve more problems than I cause.

The Mage, coincidentally, is the only one allowed to reach me over the break.

 

**_No. 8 - Magic_ **

Not _my_ magic, as that doesn’t ever leave me and doesn’t actually give me any comfort.

What I miss is being around magic. The casual, ambient sort of magic that comes from being with magicians who don’t know any other way of life. People casting spells in the hallways and throughout lessons. Someone sending a plate of sausages down the dinner table like it’s bouncing on wires.

It isn’t actually a world of its own, the World of Mages. There aren’t any magical cities or villages inhabited solely by those with magic. Magicians are spread out around the world just like any other group of people, which is supposedly safer. That’s what Logan’s mum said anyway, that it prevents us being too far removed from mundanity the way the fairies did. The fairies found it tedious dealing with the rest of the world and so they wandered into the woods for a couple centuries and lost their way back.

Which makes Watford the only place that magicians live together unless they’re related I guess. Social clubs for magicians exist, and there are parties and social gatherings, but Watford remains the only place where we’re all together all the time. I think that may be why people have been coupling up like nobodies business in the last few years. Apparently not meeting your spouse at Watford could mean ending up alone.

When I’m alone, magic becomes something personal and burdensome. It’s a heavy secret.

But at Watford, magic is just the air that we breathe. Magic makes me a part of something bigger, as opposed to setting me apart the way it does for three quarters of the year.

 

**_No. 9 - Picani and the goats_ **

I started helping Picani the goatherd in second year. For a while, hanging out with the goats was pretty much my favorite thing. (Which Virgil had a field day with.) Picani is the nicest person at Watford. He’s younger than the teachers and surprisingly powerful for somebody who decided to spend his life taking care of goats.

“I don’t think power has anything to do with it,” Picani would say. “You don’t make someone play thrashcanball just because they’re tall.”

“I think you meant basketball.” Living at Watford does leave you a bit out of touch. Logan’s mum did have a point about not removing ourselves from society.

“Same difference. I’m not a soldier, so I don’t see why I should have to fight for a living because I can throw a punch.” I don’t think Picani has punched anyone in his life.

The Mage claims we’re all soldiers, so long as you have an ounce of magic in you. He says that is what's dangerous about the old ways, having magicians treat magic as something they don’t have to protect. Feeling entitled to magic, or using it as a toy.

Picani doesn’t have a dog for the goats. He just uses his staff. I’ve seen him turn the whole herd with a wave of his hand. He’d started teaching me, even, how to pull the goats back one by one; how to make them all feel at once that they’d gone too far. I even helped with the birthing one spring.

I don’t get to spend time with Picani often anymore.

He and the goats remain on the list though. I like stopping to think of them for a minute.

 

**_No. 10 - The Wavering Wood_ **

I should take this one off the list.

Fuck the Wavering wood.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Roman** _

When I finally get to the station no one is there to greet me. Not anyone I actually know, at least, but there is a man with a grubby piece of cardboard, my last name scribbled across it. _Prince._

“That would be me,” I say. He doesn’t look convinced which isn’t surprising considering I don’t look much like what he would have been expecting. That is, I’m not the picture of some elitist rich kid. Especially when I’m not in uniform - my shoes are practically falling apart at the seams. Not to mention I don’t look nearly _bored_ enough, my eyes flickering about and my leg jiggling as I stand in place.

“That’s me,” I repeat, lowering my voice to try to lean into the intimidation factor that puts off most Normals. “Going to check my ID?”

He lets his arms drop to his sides, no longer displaying the sign. “You want to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere, I’ll drop you off in the middle of nowhere,” he sighs.

In the back of the rickety taxi I close my eyes and pull my bag close as he turns on the radio. I get carsick on my better days, and today is not a better day. Not with barely anything in my stomach and anticipation filling up the rest of me.

I’m so close now.

This is the last time I get to come home to Watford. I have no doubt that I’ll return at some point, but it won’t be like this, in the fall and leaving all the world behind me.

“Candle in the Wind” comes on the radio and the cabby perks up, singing along in a tone-deaf and warbling voice.

 **Candle in the Wind** is quite risky, as spells go. It intrigues many boys as it can help to improve your stamina, for lack of better description. Fail to emphasize the right syllable though and _whoosh_ you’ve set an actual fire - one that can’t be put out at that. I would never attempt it, even if there was a call for it, considering my poor luck with double entendres.

The car jolts and I’m tossed forward into the back of the driver’s seat.

“Seatbelt,” He admonishes.

As I pull it on I glance at my surroundings. We’re on a back road and this is not the way to Watford. My body tenses as I peer at the cabby.

He keeps singing, moving up into an intolerable volume.

“Never knowing who to turn too -” He seems comically invested in the song. I think about telling _him_ to belt up.

I check the mirror. His skin is a putrid green color and his lips a garish red. I look back to him as he is right in front of me, like a normal cabbie with crooked teeth and impressive eyebrows. Singing Elton John. Then I look back to the mirror again - green skin, red lips and handsome as a pop star. _Goblin._

I do _not_ want to know what he’s up to. Moving my hand to my hip I start mumbling the incantation for the Sword of Mages.

The weapon is truly incredible in that it doesn’t even properly exist until the wielder has the need to call out for it.

The driver hears me and grins, turning to face me.

If Virgil were here he would have an entire arsenal of spells that could serve a purpose here. He’d probably know of an obscure French turn of phrase that would work perfectly. He’s not here though, and I lash out with my sword as soon as it materializes in my left hand. It cuts cleanly through the goblins head and the headrest for good measure. _Voila._

The body keeps driving for a moment before slumping and pulling the wheel to the side. There’s no barrier between us, thank magic, so I shove off my seatbelt and scramble into the front to grip the wheel. His foot must still be pushing on the gas as we’re already off the road and accelerating.

I try to steer us back to the road, but I’ve never actually learned to drive so the car swerves into a fence. I’m blown back by the airbag releasing. I never thought I’d go out this way.

The car stops entirely before I have time to contemplate my existence or try to come up with a way to avoid further harm.

I gather my bearings. I'm laying half on the floor and I’ve smashed my face on the window and the seat consecutively. When I tell this story to Logan or Patton I’m leaving out the part where I took off my seatbelt.

Stretching my arm behind me I reach the handle and pull the door open, unending myself out onto the grass. The car managed to tumble through the fence all the way into a field where the engine running is the only discernible sound.

I turn off the engine as I assess the damage. There’s blood splattered all through the car, and unfortunately, all over myself. There are gouges in the grass and dirt from the car and the goblin’s head is sitting a couple feet away, where it must have been tossed from the vehicle.  

There’s no static feeling in the air that comes with an attack at the behest of the Insidious Humdrum. It must have been just another revenge run from a goblin trying to win the crown. Apparently, after I helped the Coven drive them out of Essex they decided that my head was the trophy necessary to become King of the goblins. It’s their own fault for gobbling up drunks in club bathrooms, to the point that the Mage was concerned about losing regional slang.

I pull my sword from the seat where it’s gotten lodged and let it dematerialize. Once that’s done I remember to grab out my bag and rummage through it to retrieve my wand, grimacing at the blood dripping from my sleeve. I can’t just leave this whole disaster to be found and nothing is worth preserving as evidence if the Humdrum had nothing to do with this.

I hold my wand out and feel my magic push up to the surface. “Work with me here,” I whisper, “ **_Out, out, damned spot!_ **”

I’ve witnessed Logan use that spell to erase unspeakable things. All it does for me is clean up a fraction of the blood from my sneakers.

The magic is impatient, building up in me and making my fingers shake. “Please,” I urge, “ **_take it away!_ **”

Sparks splinter away from my wand like a faulty sparkler.

“Fuck me, come _on_ ,” I shake out my wrist and point again, my stomach turning. My arm feels like it’s burning.

“ **_Into thin air!_ **” I shout. A wave of heat sweeps up from my feet as the taxi disappears. And the head. And the fence. And the road…

 

***

 

An hour later I trudge up to the driveway leading up to Watford’s gate. Thankfully I only vanished part of that back road and once I reached the main road again I was able to follow it the rest of the way.

Normals in the area believe Watford is like any other ultra-exclusive boarding school, thanks to all the glamours up around the grounds. Picani says that they add new layers of protection to the whole school as the spells are developed. If you’re a Normal I would imagine all the magic buildup would burn your eyes.

When I reach the tall iron gate I reach out and rest my hand on it. That used to be all it would take to gain entrance, the gate recognizing my magic and opening the school to me. There’s an inscription on the crossbar, below the title of the school spelled out over the arch, reading: MAGIC SEPARATES US FROM THE WORLD; LET NOTHING SEPARATE US FROM EACH OTHER.

The Mage had claimed it was a nice sentiment but not logical. In the Coven meeting where he had appealed to change the lack of defenses, he’d scoffed at the idea of taking security advice from a six-hundred-year-old gate. “I don’t expect my visitors to take orders from the cross stitching on my pillows.”

He’d taken me along to that one, with Logan and Patton for good measure, to make an example to the Coven. _Won’t someone think of the children!_

I tuned out of most of the debate wondering where the Mage actually lived. It’s hard enough picturing him with a house let alone throw pillows. I’d pondered whether I would ever get an invite to his home. He has rooms at Watford of course but he’s away for weeks at a time and I’d used to picture him living in the woods foraging to survive and sleeping in a hollow tree. Adjusting my view of him took some time.

In any case, security gets stiffer and admittance to Watford trickier every year.

Logan’s brother, one of the Mage’s Men, is stationed this year as a guard. I can’t imagine he’s pleased with the state of things considering the rest of the Mage’s Men are probably up in the Mage’s office planning some raid or offensive maneuver while he’s stuck out here, checking in first years.

He moves into my way.

“Alright, Nate?”

“You’re asking me?” he says eyeing me up lazily, dried blood and all.

“Goblin,” is all the explanation he needs.

Nate nods, pulling his wand out slowly to cast a cleaning spell on me. I hate when people do this, it makes me feel like a child. It’s easier than scrubbing it out though, so I mutter a quick, “thanks,” as I go to slip around him.

“Hold up,” he says, putting his arm out. He takes a moment to lay his wand on my forehead, “Special measures, considering the Humdrum is running around with your face nowadays.”

I jerk but don’t pull away from his wand. “I uh, I thought that was meant to be a secret.”

“Yes,” He nods slowly in agreement. “But it’s a secret that needs to be shared with people like me so we can keep you safe.”

I scoff, “If I were the Humdrum, you’d have been eaten by now.”

He doesn’t seem phased.

“Either way then we’d know it was him. Maybe that’s the Mage’s plan.” He lowers his wand at an infuriatingly slow pace. “You’re good to go.”

“Is Logan here yet?”

He shrugs. “I’m not my brother’s keeper”

For a moment I think he’s pouring magic into the words to cast a spell, but he turns from me and leans against the rail in his usual lackadaisical fashion.

 

***

 

The Great Lawn is empty. I guess I’m one of the first to arrive. I start running, because I can, and upset a huddle of swallows hidden in the grass. I keep running as they flap and twitter around me, and still past the drawbridge that comes up at night, and the secondary gates, and on until I’ve reached the top of Mummers House where I finally stop to pant against my doorway.

I call for the Sword of Mages again and use it to prick my thumb and press my blood into the stone. There’s a spell I could use instead, of course, to reintroduce myself to the room after being away. The spell takes more work though, and Virgil isn’t even here yet to smell the blood.

My room. It’ll be our room again soon enough but for now, it’s mine. I push the window open with fervor to smell the fresh air and fall back onto my bed as I watch the dust motes dance through the room.

The ancient mattress is stuffed with feathers and preserved through spellwork. _Merlin._ Merlin and Morgana and Methuselah, it’s good to be back. It’s always so good to be back.

Returning for the first time in my second year had led to me sobbing like a baby in my bed until well after Virgil had arrived.

“Why are you crying _already?_ You’re ruining my plans to drive you to tears, Roman. Pathetic,” he ’d scoffed, as though I’d done it in some elaborate scheme to get one over on him.

I let my eyes fall shut to appreciate the smell.

Feathers. Dust. Lavender.

Water, from the moat.

There’s also that slightly acrid smell that Virgil swears is from the Merwolves. It’s a terrible mistake to give Virgil any excuse to go off about them. Sometimes I catch him leaning out the window to spit at the moat, that’s how much he detests the species.

If he were here already I wouldn’t be able to smell anything over his soap… I take a deep breath trying to catch the scent of cedar.

There’s a rattle at the door, and I spring up reaching for the Sword of Mages yet again. That’s three times in one day. Maybe I should just start leaving it out. The incantation is the only spell that never fails me, but that’s mostly because it’s not quite a spell but more of an oath.

“ _In Justice. In Courage. In defense of the Weak. In the face of the Mighty. Through Magic and Wisdom and Good.”_

The sword doesn’t have to appear at all. It’s in ‘my possession’ but it doesn’t really belong to anyone. It only comes if it trusts you.

I swing the sword up to my shoulder right as Logan pushes the door open. I let it drop.

“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” I say as Logan crosses the room to Virgil’s desk.

He shrugs and seats himself in Virgil’s chair. I grin.

“If Virgil finds out you were touching his stuff he’ll kill you,” I say, twisting my wrist and letting the sword fade again.

“Let him try,” he sizes me up. “You look terrible.”

“I ran into a goblin on the way.”

He sighs, “Why can’t they just vote in the next king?”

His voice is light, but I can tell he’s testing the waters. The last time he saw me I was barely held together by a mix of magic, willpower, and his hand on my arm. The last time I saw Logan everything was falling apart…

After we escaped the Humdrum and managed to flee back to Watford we crashed the end of year ceremony and it wasn’t pretty. Logan’s family was there - everyone’s family was there - and his mother tore into the Mage.

“This is your fault!” she’d screeched, gripping Logan tightly by the arm as though he would slip away without an anchor.  And then Nate had gotten between her and the Mage and started yelling right back. People must have assumed that the Humdrum was right behind us because the Chapel became a mess of everyone running with their wands out. I can’t blame them - I must have looked a fright still bleeding from my pores (no one can explain what caused that).

It felt more than just chaotic. It felt like the end.

Then Logan’s mum had spelled their whole family away, even Nate mid drawn out shout. They probably only traveled to their car but Logan’s hand, holding on to me as tightly as his mother held him, suddenly vanishing from my arm made me feel as though there was an insurmountable distance between us. It was a very lonely feeling.

I haven’t talked to him since.

I desperately want to scoop him up right this instance and check him over to see that he’s properly okay, but Logan hates scenes almost as much as his mum loves them. My uniform is laid out for me at the end of my bed and I turn to it as an excuse to ignore the urge, putting it away piece by piece. New grey slacks. New green and purple striped tie…

Logan lets out a deep sigh. I move back to my bed and perch facing Logan, trying to control the massive grin that wants to spread across my face. “What could possibly have you so bothered this early on?”

“Patton.” I have to stifle a laugh at his very obviously false put-upon face.

“And what has he done then?”

“Come back,” He asserts, fixing his glasses on his face. I don’t bother hiding my amusement this time, snorting at him without any sort of restraint.

“I really don’t believe that you expected him to do anything else,” I say. It’s always amusing to watch as Logan and Patton re-acclimate to each other.

“The room is already covered in his home-baked goods. He’s not been away near long enough to have needed a care package, Roman.” I really don’t think he cares about whether or not the room contains baked goods. He cares about being eternally thrown off by Patton’s continuous warmth, and about all the awkward missteps they’ll inevitably make while they work at finding their natural dynamic again. I don’t say that though.

“In his defense,” I begin, “his father’s cookies are delicious -”

“You’re only on his side because his side may lead to you getting cookies,” Logan scoffs.

I giggle, “You can’t seriously be implying that Patton’s side is the _dark side,_ are you? It’s Patton!”

“You are perfectly aware that I was making no such insinuation,” he says, rolling his eyes at me with more force than is strictly necessary. He claims that I’m the dramatic one, but I don’t see it.

I swallow another laugh but end up beaming at him anyway. Great snakes, I missed this nerd so much. “And it’s your last year anyway, you can deal with some cookies, for Merlin’s sake Logan,” I let myself finish as though there was no interruption.

He straightens up at that. “It’s _our_ last year, Roman. And I know precisely what you will be doing next summer.”

“What’s that?”

He grins, “Hanging out with me.”

“Hunting the Humdrum?”

“Fuck the Humdrum.”

We both snicker, but I can’t help internally grimacing at the thought of him. The Humdrum looks exactly like an eleven-year-old version of me, which I might believe I’d hallucinated if Logan hadn’t seen him too.

I shudder.

Logan notices. “You are not at your optimum weight range.”

“It’s just the clothes.”

He seems exasperated. “Well change then,” He says. He already has. “It’s near time to head to the cafeteria anyway.”

I hop up to gather my outfit but Logan rises too and grabs my arm in the same place he’d held last time. “It is good to see you,” He says quietly, peering into my eyes.

I smile. Again. Logan has a way of making my cheeks hurt.

“Don’t make a scene,” I whisper back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this may end up being lamp...


	4. Chapter 4

**_Logan_ **

Too thin. He looks too thin.

More than that he looks… scraped.

The common trend seems to be that Roman's appearance will improve after several weeks of perhaps too much indulgence in Watford's food. He is broad-shouldered and broad-nosed so when he becomes malnourished his skin simply hangs off his bones.

I am accustomed to seeing him emaciated this way each autumn. However today it is much worse.

His face is chapped. The skin around his eyes looks rough and patchy, his eyes themselves lined with red. His hands are red too, excepting when he forms a fist and his knuckles go white from the blanching of the superficial venous flow. 

His smile is affected as well. It has become too stretched and fragile for his face.

I cannot find it in myself to make eye contact with him. Every reminder of the horrors he has suffered and the trials he has yet to face cause me great distress. I find myself resisting the urge to pack him up and run elsewhere with him. It is more than tempting to consider leaving and only returning once the Mage and the Pitches and the Humdrum have finished with the wars they seem so content to wage against each other.

Roman, Patton and I could get an apartment together. I could read and write. Patton could bake absurd amounts of deserts. Roman could eat and sleep and live long enough to see the far end of nineteen. 

I would act on my fabrications and steal Roman away from all of this without a second thought if only I could convince myself he is not the only one capable of making a difference in the crisis the World of Mages is facing. Truly though, I know that if I were to act so recklessly and choose to keep Roman safe…

There would be no World of Mages to return to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short! I should be getting a larger chapter up soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Roman_ **

The cafeteria is nearly empty save for some of the younger kids, first and second years, loitering with their parents. I catch several of them, the parents and children alike, glancing over at me. The kids will get used to having me around after a couple of weeks but this may be their parents only chance to size me up.

Everyone in the magickal community seemed to know of me and, more importantly, my pertinence to the World of Mages before I was even brought to Watford. There’s a prophecy about me - a few prophecies, really - that says I’m supposed to fix everyone’s problems by being super powerful.

 

_And one will come to end us._

_And one will bring his fall._

_Let the greatest power of powers reign,_

_May it save us all._

 

The Great Mage. The Chosen One. The Power of Powers.

It still hasn’t quite sunk in that I’m meant to be that person. I can’t deny it, certainly. No one else has as much power as I do. I can’t manage it or  _do_ anything with it, but it is mine.

By the time I actually showed up most people appeared to have moved on from the old prophecies, assuming they were false or that the Greatest Mage managed to slip by without drawing attention to whatever threat ailed the World of Mages.

It definitely wasn’t expected that the Chosen One would be plucked from the Normal world or that I would be as… defective as I am.

A mage can’t be born to Normal parents.

I must have been though. Logan told me that magicians don’t give up their children, which means there’s no such thing as magical orphans. Magic is too valued for anyone to give away a magical child.

I wasn’t aware of any of this at first - not that I was the first magician born to a Normal, not that I was astronomically more powerful than other magicians, and definitely not that some people thought I was made up by The Mage for political sway. The Mage never mentioned any of it and so I had to learn as I went.

At the start, right after I first arrived, there was a lot of people from the Old Families that wanted me to be formally introduced so everyone could check me out in person. The Mage didn’t let it happen obviously - he was far too aware of how most magicians get so focused on their own agendas they lose sight of the important things. “ _I won’t see you becoming anyone’s pawn, Roman.”_

It’s a good thing that he was so cautious. As much as it would be nice to fit in a bit more in the magical community and know more people - well, I made my own friends. Even better I made my friends young, way before any of them became too concerned with whether I was the Chosen One or not.

Of course, my so-called celebrity status really doesn’t make people flock to me as everyone knows that there is a tendency for things to  _blow up_ around me. No  _people_ have ever blown up yet though, and that’s got to count towards something.

In any case, the staring from across the room is nothing new and it doesn’t bother me all that much.

Considering that we attend an exclusive boarding school, one fancy enough to have it’s own cathedral and moat, we really aren’t all that spoiled. Everyone manages their own cleaning, and past fourth year we even do our own laundry. Magic is allowed for chores, but I don’t bother with it. We have a cook - his names Steve - who does the cooking with some assistance and everyone takes turns serving at mealtimes. Weekends are help yourself style though.

Logan grabs us a plate of cheese sandwiches and I nab a mountain of sour cherry scones. When we settle at our table I start spreading the butter on my scones in thick slabs so that it melts towards the edges but leaves a cold bite in the center and Logan watches me with a look of disdain on his face. He’s also looking at me like he missed me though, so I imagine he can’t be too disgusted.

“Don’t hold back,” I say once I’ve torn through the first scone, “what was your summer like?”

“It was satisfactory.”

“Yeah?” Crumbs fly everywhere. I pretend not to notice.

“I visited Chicago with my father,” he says, leaning forward slightly. I can’t help but notice that even though it’s only been months since I’ve seen him he looks different. More grown up.

“I find myself much more interested in your summer, however,” he adds. I can tell he’s been waiting for an opening to begin his interrogation and I’ve just handed it right to him.

“Are you permitted to tell me what occurred?” he presses. 

“What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “This summer,” he motions impatiently.

I shrug. “Nothing happened this summer, Logan.”

He leans back, sighing. “It was not in my control that I went to America, Roman. I did try to stay, you must be aware.”

“No, there’s nothing to tell. I’m not holding back. You left and so did everyone else. I went back into care - It was Liverpool this time.

“You mean to inform me that the Mage truly just sent you away? After everything that happened?” Logan looks confused, which isn’t a common expression for him. I can’t blame him though.

After barely escaping a kidnapping I hadn’t expected the Mage to send me away either.

I thought that when he heard what happened he would want to attack the Humdrum straight away. We knew where the monster was and we knew what it looked like - it seemed like a no brainer that we would use that to our advantage.

We finally had a lead. After  _years_ of the Insidious Humdrum hiding in the shadows, sending dark creatures to attack Watford and leaving dead spots scattered throughout the magickal atmosphere.

I wanted him found. I wanted him punished. I wanted everything to finally be over, and I thought that we could do that, the Mage and I.

I must look as lost as I feel because Logan clears his throat and changes the subject. “Have you spoken to Patton?”

My next scone has cooled and the butter doesn’t melt. Logan holds up his hand, casting a quick “ _ **s**_ ** _ome like it hot!_ **” while he waits for my answer.

I will never understand why he insists on wasting his magic on me like this. The butter melts into the now steaming scone and I’m forced to toss it from hand to hand.

“You know that Patton’s not supposed to talk to me during the summer.”

“Well I thought that perhaps he would find a way around it this time,” Logan says. “In order to try and explain himself to you.”

I let the scorching scone drop to the plate. “He wouldn’t disobey the Mage. Or his parents. Besides It’s not as though I can control who he talks to.” If there’s a touch of bitterness in my voice, well, that’s my problem.

“That is it then? We’ve made absolutely no progress at all? This was just another regular summer? What on earth are we meant to do now?” Normally I would be the one feeling so belligerent, but I’ve had all summer to adjust my view.

“I assume we go back to school,” I say, gesturing around us.

 

***

 

Logan follows me back to my room again when we’ve finished eating. When I ask him why he's spending so much time in my room he claims that it’s unjust that I don’t share my superior living accommodations.

“I live with a vampire!” I exclaim in protest.

“Unconfirmed”

I scoff. “Are you really trying to say that you don’t believe Virgil’s a vampire?”

“I know that Virgil is a vampire,” he says. “But it is still unconfirmed, given that we have never seen him drink blood.”

“We haven’t caught him in the act, no, but we’ve found piles of dead, drained rats that were bitten in the catacombs. Hell, we’ve seen him covered in blood! And have I mentioned that when he has bad dreams his cheeks get all puffed up - like his mouth doesn’t have room for his fangs?”

“Circumstantial evidence,” Logan asserts. “What did possess you to sneak up on a vampire, one with night terrors nonetheless?”

“I live with the guy! I’ve got to be prepared for anything.”

His eyes roll behind his glasses. “There is nothing you could do to make Virgil harm you whilst you are in your room.”

He’s not wrong. Virgil can’t hurt me so long as we’re here. Every room is spelled against betrayal. It’s called the roommate’s anathema. If either of us were to do something to physically hurt each other within our room we would be cast out of Watford. Patton’s Dad, Dr. Wellbelove, claims that it happened to one of his classmates. Some poor idiot hit his roommate and was pulled straight out his window and launched out of the school gates. They didn’t open for him ever again.

There are warnings of course, for when you’re younger. Until the end of second year if you try to hurt your roommate your hands go numb and lock in place. I chucked a book at Virgil once and it took three whole days for my hand to go back to normal - it looked like a claw, permanently curled the way it was.

Virgil never even once violated the anathema.

“Well we don’t know what he could do while he’s sleeping,” I say.

He smirks. “You do. Considering how much you watch him.”

“I live with a _dark creature_! I’ve got a right to be paranoid!”

When dinner rolls around we head to the dining hall to grab it and then bring it all back to my room to eat there. We never get to hang out like this when Virgil’s here.

It feels liberating. The two of us with nothing to do, nowhere to go and no one to fight or hide from. Logan claims that this is what it will be like when we get an apartment together. I have my doubts that it will ever happen. It’s a good thought though - living long enough to have to figure out what to do with myself.

Logan finishes his meal and the first thing he does is brush off his fingers and say, “Right.”

“No…” I groan. “Not yet, please.”

“I do not understand. What do you mean by, ‘not yet’?”

“We’ve just got here, Logan! I’m still settling in, please don’t start with the strategizing already!”

His eyes roam the bare room. “I am having difficulty determining what it is exactly that you have to settle.”

“I,” I begin, reaching over to grab his leftover sausages, “am enjoying the peace and quiet.”

“There is no peace. Only quiet,” Logan says seriously. “It is discomfiting. We need a plan.”

“There is peace, though. Virgil isn’t here yet, and look,” I exclaim, waving his fork around. “There’s nothing attacking us.”

“You were just the victim of a goblin attack, Roman.” Logan looks unimpressed.

“Having been out of commission for two months does not mean that the war has stopped or that the Humdrum is any less a threat.”

I groan again. “You sound like the Mage.”

“It makes no sense to me that he left you without contact all summer.”

“He’s probably too busy with ‘the war’” I mutter.

Logan sighs and his hands fold in front of himself as though he’s a teacher waiting for a student to become reasonable.

He’s just going to have to wait.

_The war._

There’s really no sense in talking about it at this point. It will come when it comes and there’s nothing to be done about it. It isn’t even just the one war, really, but three all on the brink of breaking out. There’s the civil war that’s brewing, ancient animosities with the dark creatures being stirred up, and of course the issue of the Insidious Humdrum.

I must look miserable because Logan actually relents.

“Well, the war will still be present tomorrow,” he says, looking away from me.

We both settle in on my bed for a while as he rambles about airplanes and American politics. He falls asleep halfway through explaining the differences between American and British spellcrafting.

“Logan?” He doesn’t answer. I nudge his shoulder a bit. “ _Lo!”_

“What?” he moans into my pillow.

“You’ve got to get back to your room.”

“I do not have to do anything,” he glares up at me sleepily.

“Yes, you do. You could get suspended if you’re found in the wrong room, disrespecting the crucible.”

“Let it happen. I could use the free time for my experiments.” He shuffles around so he’s facing the wall. “Goodnight Roman.”

I grin. I can’t help it - it’s simply too good to be back.

I glance over at Virgil’s bed. Sleeping there would be inviting trouble for sure. I settle in to sleep next to Logan, wishing I could change into my school pajamas without disturbing him.

Virgil always brings his pajamas from home, but I prefer the school ones. I never wear pajamas when I’m at the juvenile centers though - they leave me feeling too vulnerable - so it’s no great sacrifice to sleep in my day clothes.

I drift off to the sound of Logan’s breathing.

 

I’m not sure what time it is when I wake up but the moonlight is filtering in from the window and Logan’s arm is thrown across my stomach.

I notice a figure standing by the window, and at first, I think Virgil has arrived. Then they shift and I’m sure it’s a woman.

Then I decide I’m dreaming and I go back to sleep.

 

**_Linda_**

I have so much I want to tell you.

     But time is short.

     And my voice doesn’t carry.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Roman_ **

The door creaks open in the morning far too early for my taste. The bed is colder than it has any right to be which means that Logan got up and left at his usual ungodly hour. He’s probably back to pester me into joining him. “Go away,” I moan into my pillow, fully expecting to be reprimanded anyway. Logan has a special way of causing me to forget entirely that I ever missed him at all.

A throat clears.

I finally lift my head to see that it absolutely isn’t Logan. The Mage is standing near to the door, a quirk in his grin suggesting he finds the whole situation entertaining. His eyes aren’t quite as light as the rest of his demeanor though - and they never really are.

“Oh!” I flail, getting myself upright. “Sir, I’m so sorry.”

“No use apologizing Roman, I’m sure you just didn’t hear me knocking.”

“No, um… Should I get dressed?”

“Don’t bother,” He says, strutting across the room to the window. He takes care to avoid coming close to Virgil’s bed. Even he’s afraid of vampires. Of course, The Mage would use a much more palatable word like ‘cautious’ or ‘prudent’- never afraid.

“I wasn’t available to welcome you back yesterday, my apologies,” he says. “I trust your journey was fine?”

I leverage myself out from under the covers to sit with my legs over the side of the bed. I may be in my pajamas but I can still act like I have my dignity. “Yes,” I say, “although, fine might not be the best word. My taxi driver was a goblin.”

He sighs. “Another one?” he turns to face me again, clasping his hands behind his back. “They’re relentless. Alone, I imagine.”

There’s no question in his tone but I confirm anyway. “Yes, sir.”

He gives a jerk of his head, “They aren’t smart enough to consider pairing up. What spell did you use?”

Oh. I bite my lip. “I used my blade, sir.”

“Hmm.”

“And **Into thin air** to clean it up,” I rush to add.

His expression flickers, not really pleased but placated at least. “Splendid, Roman.” He looks me over, scrutinizing my pajamas and my bare feet.

He meets my eyes again, his stare hard. “And this summer? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“I would’ve reported anything to you, sir.” Because I could contact him. If I really needed to, but only then. I have his number (and I know how to send a bird).

He gives a nod and then turns his gaze from me to focus on the window again as though he’s already managed to suss out everything he needs to observe about me. The light coming in catches his hair nicely and for a moment he appears all the more like a swashbuckler.

His uniform is… interesting. His leggings are an emerald canvas disappearing into tall leather boots and his tunic which has all sorts of pockets and straps. His sword hangs from his side, entirely visible unlike mine.

Professor Bunce, Logan’s mum, told us that previous mages wore ceremonial outfits consisting of a cowl and cape whereas other headmasters wore robes. The Mage created his own uniform, I guess. She calls it a costume.

I’m pretty sure that Professor Bunce detests the Mage almost as much as his actual enemies do. Logan’s dad is a quiet fellow, so the only times I’ve heard him speak were when his mum started on a tangent against the Mage. His voice is always soft and soothing when he say’s “Now, Mitali…” which is when she’ll take a deep breath and say  “I’m sorry Roman, I know you’re his foster son.”

He isn’t my foster father though, not in the real way. He’s never put himself forward in that way. As my family. I’m treated more like an ally of his and I have been since the start. At eleven years old he’d sat me down in his office and told me every detail. The Insidious Humdrum, the missing magic, the holes in the atmosphere like dead spots. All while I was still trying to comprehend the existence of magic at all, he was telling me that there was something out there devouring it. And he told me I was the only one who could help.

“ _You are far too young to hear this, Roman. However, the Insidious Humdrum is a threat that doesn’t wait for maturity. He’s powerful and pervasive. Our resistance to him is futile._

_“The fight is a necessary one nonetheless. We want to protect you, Roman, and I vow to do so with my life. But it is vital you learn, as soon as possible, how to_ _keep yourself safe._

_“He is our greatest threat. You are our greatest hope.”_

I didn’t ask any questions that day. I was in shock. All I wanted was for the Mage to do something cool again, like when he’d opened a window with just his words.

The first year was spent convincing myself it wasn’t real, the next convincing myself that it was.

It was only after I’d been attacked by ogres, shattered a circle of standing stones, and grown five inches that I asked the important question.

Why me?

Why did it have to be me to fight the Humdrum?

I’ve received a litany of answers over the years. I was chosen. I was prophesied. The Humdrum won’t leave me alone.

None of which are actual answers. Trust Logan to be the only one who can give me a workable reason. He’s the one who told me, “Because you are capable, Roman, and someone must.”

The Mage is still staring intently out the window. I consider briefly offering him a seat but I’m honestly fairly sure that standing is his default state.

I clear my throat. “Sir?”

“Roman.”

He seems put out today.

“Did we find the Insidious Humdrum?” I ask despite my hesitation.

He shakes his head and crosses his arms, his movements sharp and quick. “There have been no new developments. In fact, I have had to attend to more pressing concerns as of late.”

My jaw drops.

“Concerns more important than the Insidious Humdrum?” I ask, incredulity drenching my words.

He doesn’t even blink. “Not more important, Roman, just needing more immediate attention. The old families are testing me. Financial support is ceasing and the Pitches are paying certain members to stay away from Coven meetings. Not to mention the multitude of skirmishes that have been popping up.”

Skirmishes? I haven’t heard anything about this before. “Sir?” I press.

“They’ll do anything to test me, Roman. Anything to chip away at my control so that they can work their way into power. Ruining everything I’ve accomplished as they go”

“And they really think that they’re capable of handling the Insidious Humdrum on their own?”

“They’re not thinking of the end game, simply the moves directly in front of them. Right now it isn’t their problem and so they don’t care.”

“Well forget the idiots then! If the Humdrum wins there won’t even be anything to fight over. He should be the one we’re focused on.” I say.

“And so we shall. At the right time,” He says, peering at me sternly. “When we’ve the knowledge to win. Until then my major concern is you.”

He pauses.

“Roman. I’ve talked it through with some trusted members of the Coven. So far, our attempts to keep you safe have failed. In spite of how well protected we are here the Humdrum seems to do the most damage to you when you are within Watford grounds. Like last June, when you were taken away with no one the wiser.”

I flush at this. He’s talking about himself and the protections on the castle but I’m the one who’s a failure. I’m meant to defeat the Humdrum but during my first direct confrontation with him the most I could manage was running away. Without Logan, I may have even failed at that.

The Mage continues, slowly. “We’ve decided that you would be safer somewhere other than Watford.”

That’s... “Sir?”

“A place has already been set up for you and an adequate tutor has been contacted. Of course, I can’t tell you the details but we’re leaving soon so you’ll get to see for yourself.”

Everything in me grinds to a halt. That or the world around me starts going too fast.

“You’re asking me to leave Watford?”

He bristles. “Yes. You needn’t pack too much, just your boots and your cloak. Anything you don’t want to lose.”

“Sir.” I pause, reeling. “I can’t leave Watford. Classes start this week.”

He sighs, “Roman, you aren’t a kid anymore. There’s nothing left for you to learn here anyway.”

He could be right, I’m a terrible student. This year won’t make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. And yet… “I can’t leave. It’s my last year at Watford.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Mage’s eyes narrow so harshly.

“It’s impossible,” I try again. I’m trying to think of reasons, an argument. All I come up with is **no**. I won’t leave. My whole life is Watford, the times I’m not here don’t even feel like living. Next year that will have to change but not yet. Not yet. “No. I can’t leave.”

“Roman,” His voice is sharp enough to cut. “Don’t pretend this is a suggestion. Your life is under threat. Considering the entire World of Mages is counting on you that is not something I’m willing to compromise.”

His last point feels like one I could argue. Virgil doesn’t count on me for anything, nor do any of the house of Pitch.

I try to swallow but my throat is too dry. My head whips back and forth.

The Mage scowls at me like I’m a tantrum throwing child. “You must realize Roman, that the Humdrum only attacks when you are here. At Watford.”

“Have you just realized this now?” I blurt out, tagging on a belated “Sir.” 

“What has gotten into you?” he shouts, now looming over me. “You’ve never questioned me like this before.”

“Well, you’ve never asked me to leave before!” I shout back.

His face shutters. “When we are at war we all make sacrifices.”

“We’ve been at war as long as I’ve been coming to Watford. War doesn’t mean life just stops.”

“Doesn’t it?” he spits. He’s finally lost his temper. I’m all too aware of his hand which is resting on the hilt of his sword. “Where is my normal life, Roman? Do you see my wife and children anywhere? Have you ever known me to take holidays? No. I've focused entirely on the battle ahead. We don’t have the luxury of shirking our responsibilities because we’re bored with them.”

I jerk at the insinuation. “I’m not bored,” I mutter.

“Speak. Up.”

I lift my chin and meet his eyes. “I’m not bored, sir.”

His teeth grind for a moment. “Get dressed and start packing.”

I’m rooted to the spot. “No.”

It’s not happening. I’ve just arrived. I suffered through this summer because of the promise of Watford at the end but this was the worst one yet. I’ve nothing left in me. I don’t have what it takes to leave again right now. I wouldn’t survive it. And what about Logan and Patton?

I’m shaking my head again but the Mage’s gasp makes me look to him. Or look as best I can through the red haze that’s now between us.

Fuck. Fuck.

He staggers back, his wand out. “Roman, **Stay cool**!”

I grab for my own wand, chanting any spell that might work but it only draws my magic more to the surface, the redness thickening. I slam my eyes shut and think about disappearing like the taxi car and the fence and the road. Try and empty my brain out so there’s nothing to fuel my broken magic. I collapse back onto the bed, distantly noting my wand clattering to the floor.

When the world swims back into view the Mage is leaning over me, his hand pressed to my forehead. I smell smoke and realize the sheets must be charred.

“Sorry,” I slur, “M’sorry. I didn’t-”

“Of course not,” he says quickly. He’s still afraid though.

“Please, please don’t make me go,” I beg.

The Mage is looking straight through me right now with his piercing gaze. I can see his mind turning and I can see the moment he gives in.

“I’ll see what can be done, perhaps work out some more time…”

He focuses on me again. “Roman, we aren’t concerned for your safety alone, you must know.”

He’s still leaning over me. Only smoke is between us and I struggle to breathe.

He finally stands again, stepping away. “Do you need to see the nurse?”

“No, sir.”

The Mage whirls out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

I wince and then check to be sure the sheets aren’t actively burning before falling quickly back into a dead sleep.

**_Linda_ **

And the fog is so thick.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and see me on tumblr?  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/alsoyouremischievous


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